A Christmas Carol
by Sianii
Summary: Christmas season is the most dreadful thing for successful NY fashion designer Kurt Hummel. But one cannot live his life trampling over everyone around them and this very Christmas Kurt gets some very special visitors who might just show him his flaws like he never wanted to see them.


A Christmas Carole Part I: The ghost of one you knew

Kurt Hummel was the name on everyone's lips in the fashion world. His designs had been the talk on several conceding fashion shows and stars and starlets queued, and not rarely fought, to be allowed to present one of his haute couture gowns on the red carpet. You could say, at 28 Kurt Hummel had it all. The thriving business located in a spacious studio in Midtown Manhattan just as well as the beautiful loft on the Upper East Side. His name was well known and respected and his looks and style were the talk of a bunch of gossip and high class magazines.

He was also an asshole. Especially, but not exclusively, around Christmas.

It was Christmas Eve and Kurt was still working in his studio. The sketch he was working on, was giving him trouble and he was adamant about getting it done before going home for the night. He didn't mind working late and working late could mean 8pm, if he felt like it also 10pm or 3am. Needless to say his assistant Santana Lopez was expected to stay until then.

Kurt looked at the sketch. He just didn't seem to be able to get the neck line quite right. He sighed and put the pencil down, crossing his arms as he studied his work once more. Over the edge of his table he could see Santana in the front going over books and call lists. Her gaze flickered to the clock on the wall every other second. Kurt couldn't help but to roll his eyes.

"You need to be somewhere, Santana?" he asked coldly and the woman froze, her eyes still glued to the clock. She took a second before facing him, visibly bracing herself.

"Well, in fact I hoped to get out a little earlier tonight. It's Christmas Eve and I know Dani would like me to be home before midnight." She sounded unsure and he thrived on it. When Santana had come to work for him three years ago she had been a snarky bitch who wouldn't take no shit, to be blunt. It had been the reason why Kurt had hired her. In a way she still was that woman. No one could handle divaesque starlets or greedy managers nearly as capably as her.

Knowing that it was even a greater success to have her act around him like an insecure school girl, always keen to please. Constantly afraid. It worked pretty well for him. He kept the work load high and the pay low and everyone was happy.

"Let me think," he turned his head to the side and made a torn expression, "I guess I'll have to say no. I do not see how a holiday _tomorrow_ would be reason to let you go earlier _today_. It's pretty generous that you get tomorrow off altogether."

"You have to give me tomorrow off! It's a _holiday_!" Her expression was so full of suppressed loathing, it was delicious. "Bad enough, Santana. You know you will have to be in extra early on the Day after Christmas to catch up on all the work."

"Maldita sea! Wait? Are you serious?" Santana had stood up and had taken a step towards him. Kurt wasn't looking anymore though. He had just the idea to make this dress the crown of his next collection. "What were you expecting? Now shush before I get angry and let something slip and we don't want that do we?"

There was silence. You could only hear the scratch-scratch of his pen on the paper. Then there was a light shuffle and then a chair creaked. Kurt glanced up. Santana sat with her back towards him. Her whole posture had collapsed. She was working.

Shortly after the door was pushed open. Kurt didn't even look up. Santana could handle whatever business brought someone to his place.

"Well you do know how to bring the Christmas spirit into a studio, huh?" At that Kurt did look up. A woman had entered the studio. She was clad in a thick black winter coat with gold buttons (Macys) and her hair was straightened. She was quite curvy but Kurt appreciated style and confidence more than size and he had to say that this woman with her dark skin and perfect hair style was indeed impressive. His admiration for her appearance fell short though as soon as she had uttered her next sentence.

"My name is Mercedes Jones and I work voluntarily at a soup kitchen in Brooklyn. I am visiting business in this area to ask for donations. Could I speak with your boss?" She smiled kindly at Santana, her full lips curving upwards showing some perfectly white teeth.

"Well, good luck with that, lady. He's right in the back. May I present the utterly remarkable Mr. Kurt Hummel." She let her arm wave around introducing Kurt like the special guest at a gala dinner. Payback, Kurt figured. On any other day Santana would just have get rid of the intruder herself.

"Kurt Hummel, I suppose." Miss Jones approached him with broad, sure steps, her hand outstretched for him to shake. "Merry Christmas to you."

He looked at her hand without saying a word until she dropped it.

"Yeah, we actually don't do Christmas around here." He let his gaze drift around the utterly undecorated studio and put an obviously fake smile on his lips.

"Well, to each their own, I guess," Mercedes replied, "But that shouldn't keep you from sharing with those in need. Some people say Christmas is an excellent time to give and share but I think any time of the year is perfect. So no excuses, Mr Hummel."

She was still smiling and Kurt couldn't help but to laugh. "Yeah, if you ask me I'd say any time of the year is the perfect time to enjoy what you worked for, so pardon me if I intend to do that."

"Sorry?" she asked perplexed. "What I am saying is that I am not giving you a cent of my well earned money and I would ask you very much to get lost now."

"Listen now, white boy. I am not going to go after your trust fund or your house in the Hamptons. All I'm asking is for a little change for people starving and freezing to death in these ungodly streets. Do you have no heart?" She was raging now Kurt could tell. Her brown eyes were sparkling and she had moved her stance, legs more spread and hands on her hips, as if she was about to lower her head and take him on her non existing horns.

"My cardiologist assures me I'm excellent. I just don't see why I would support other people's laziness if my sad excuse for a government is already determined to feed every little rat that isn't determined enough to do so itself."

"You...!" But she seemed lost for words. "If you were so kind as to leave my studio now. You're trespassing." He leaned his chin on his hands and smiled kindly at her as she turned on her heel and stormed out.

"Way to go, boss. One step closer to eternal damnation."

"You'd have to know, Satan," he shot back, silencing her. He didn't believe in an after life or a supernatural being looking over them. And even if he had, protecting his own money from greedy strangers seemed like a very just thing to him.

The door hadn't completely closed, when it was pushed open once more. The man looked after the woman storming down the hallway towards the elevator, his handsome features drawn together in bewilderment. As soon as he turned his head and caught sight of Santana sitting at her desk though, a smile spread on his face, making his hazel eyes shine.

"Merry Christmas, Santana. Also, what was that about?" He stepped further into the studio, loosening the red Kashmir scarf around his neck and popping up the buttons of his dark blue coat.

"Mr. Hummel spread some Christmas cheer," Santana answered lightly. She didn't like to admit it but in the stressful day-to-day business that was working for the Kurt Hummel, Blaine Anderson's sporadic visits were a welcomed and delightful interruption. "Of course he did." He shared a private smile with Santana before walking past her towards Kurt. He had descarded of his coat and scarf only to fold them neatly over his arm, revealing the red slacks, white button down, blue sweater vest and green bow tie decorated with gold and red Christmas presents.

"Hey, Kurt. Merry Christmas," Blaine cheered as he pulled a chair over to sit next to Kurt looking over his shoulder to get a peak at the new sketch. "What are you doing here, Blaine?" was all the greeting he got though.

"I am here to invite you to my Christmas dinner obviously. It's tomorrow at 3pm. Please say you'll come?" Blaine's face was bright and hopeful.

"Didn't you ask me the same thing last year?" Kurt sounded bored but Blaine nodded. "And what did I say then?" "You said no." "And what did I say that year before?"

Blaine huffed out a sigh. "You also said no." Blaine fidgeted with his hands in his seat but the hopeful expression wasn't yet wiped completely from his face. Kurt simply continued his work. He hadn't lifted his gaze once to look at Blaine. "Do you see a pattern here?"

"You can't really blame a guy for trying, can you? And besides, you're my friend, Kurt. Of course I'd invite you to my annual Christmas dinner."

"Are we though?" For a second Blaine hesitated though the conviction in his answer made up for the moment of doubt. "Yes you are. You have been for over a decade and you still will be in fifty years. It's Christmas. It's the time when you keep your loved ones close. It's a time to be grateful for the ones you have and share your love with them."

"Isn't Thanksgiving the holiday for being grateful?" Blaine laughed. "Well, you can never be grateful enough really. Honestly though," he lightly places a hand on Kurt's thigh. Kurt's pencil stuttered for a second but he still didn't look up nor did he give any further indication that he was actually listening to Blaine. "I would love you to be there because you are one of the people I love and want to have close around the holidays. Just think about it." Blaine squeezed lightly before retreating his hand and standing up. He had already walked a couple of steps as he turned around on his heel. "That reminds me! I know you never decorate but I wanted you to have at least something."

From the pocket of his coat Blaine retrieved something small and then places it on the top of Kurt's sketching table. It was a handmade Santa puppet. It's feet dangled over the edge of the desk, his round eyes looking surprisingly friendly for two dead pieces of plastic.

"See all better." Kurt didn't answer, had just glanced up and then narrowed his eyes at the puppet. "He'll just sit here and make your Christmas merry." Kurt snorted but Blaine kept smiling.

He wished Santana and Kurt happy holidays again before leaving the studio. Blaine hadn't been gone a minute when Kurt put his pencil down only to grab the puppet and throw it into the general direction of the next bin with such force that he actually knocked the bin over when he hit it.

Santana let out a surprised "Oi!" then clicked her tongue when she saw the mess and how it had come to happen. "Will you just clean that mess up?" Kurt yelled at her, "And then get lost. You are equipped for nothing anyway! Don't even bother to come back!" Hastily, Santana had complied, shoving the trash back into the bin, the puppet included, and then had grabbed her things to head out. She had shot Kurt another questioning look, clearly unsure whether he was being serious about both her going now and not coming back after Christmas.

Kurt had been indulged in his sketch though, features concentrated but else devoid of any emotion. With a last glace Santana had rushed out the door hoping that whatever Kurt really thought, she was safe.

It was after midnight when Kurt left the building to head home. Outside the city was still filled with people visiting friends, celebrating Christmas and some people coming from a late night service. The streets were bright. The streets were always bright but now they were lit up by Christmas decoration in windows or bars, shops and private homes.

Kurt passed a group of people singing carols in front of a diner and shot them a dirty look as they rattled their donation can at him. It didn't even seem to bum them out which only lowered Kurt's already dramatically low spirits.

Standing in the cold New York night, it took forever to get a cab and when he finally did Kurt got more than he bargained for.

"Happy holidays!" the driver chirped as Kurt got in the backseat and if it hadn't been that cold or that late he would have stepped right out again. Before the driver could say anything more Kurt threw his address his way and added "... and don't even think of chatting me up."

The driver didn't seem too impressed by Kurt's tone, knowing that if his customer felt the need to leave, he would be able to pick up another fair ten feet down the street.

"Eh come on, man! It's the holidays! Cheer up."

"Holidays only means that I have to give my employees the day off. It means that the city is even more cramped than ever with fucking Christmas shoppers and worse _tourists _who expect to have a magical time at the worst time to visit this city! The only thing even worse are people like you who cannot keep their damn mouths shut and let a content soul be at peace. I do not want your holidays so stop pushing them onto me. Besides, what do you even have to be happy about? You are a cab driver in New York, frankly one of the most underpaid and ungrateful jobs in this city. I'd tell you to cheer up but I wouldn't know how. I have to admit that you do already seem far too cheery for your situation so I only hope that you are not on drugs and that I will get home safely. If you'll excuse me now, I just wasted 3 minutes of my time by talking to you."

The cab driver's mouth was hanging open as he looked at Kurt through his rear-view mirror. Kurt raised an eye brow and finally the man set the car into drive. Kurt sunk back into the seat. He could feel a headache forming itself right over his right temple and making its way to thoroughly get his mood to a knew nadir.

The alleviation he felt when he finally entered his apartment, tidy, clean and absolutely devoid of any sign what _season_ it might be, was colossal. In his soft sleeping clothes, with a dish of heated up left overs and a huge glass of wine, Kurt got comfortable on his $2500 couch. On nearly every TV station there were Christmas movies or specials or just something holiday related even at this hour of the day and Kurt was close to giving up when The Sound of Music popped up on his screen.

Kurt doesn't even need a moment of consideration before he sets the remote down and focused on the movie. His lips quirked up in a sad smile as he reached for the nearly empty wine bottle. As the movie ends Kurt had already fallen asleep.

Hours later Kurt was startled out of his sleep. He couldn't pinpoint what exactly had woken him, his apartment being dark beside the light from the TV. With a groan he sat up, rubbing his eyes and then cracking his neck to get a kink out. As he turned his head, he froze.

Next to him on the couch sat someone. Someone who couldn't by all laws of physics be there, aside the fact that his door was locked and he lived on the 20th floor. Beside him sat his mother. His mother who had died when Kurt was just a child.

"Hello, Kurt," the figure beside him said and smiled. She looked at him friendly, wearing a Christmas sweater his mother had loved and still she looked _wrong_, like she had been taken out of her time. Kurt shook his head. He had to be dreaming. What other explanation was there? He had had too much wine, a headache and all the sentimental morons had gotten to him after all.

"You're not dreaming, sweat pea." If this was a dream it only made sense for his dream to make him think it wasn't a dream, right? And still she looked so real like if he only...

Kurt stretched out his arm, longing to touch her but as his fingertips made contact with her shoulder, his hand went right through, like he was grasping air. The contour of his mother blurred for a moment until he retreated his hand only to have her seem as solid as before.

"This can only be a dream. You are dead." The figure smiled wider. "Does it feel like a dream?" Kurt considered this for a moment. He felt awake. His vision was clear and not the least bit fuzzy. He felt alert and in control of his actions.

"Just because I might be awake doesn't mean that you are indeed real. You could be a drunken fantasy. Maybe I am coming down with a fever and you are nothing but a hallucination or the idiots outside of this sanctuary finally managed to make me go mad." His mother tilted her head lightly to the right, like she always did when Kurt had been stubborn as a boy. It made him sink further into his blanket and pout, a reaction he hadn't shown anyone in over a decade.

"Kurt, do you believe any of that?" her tone was serious but the smile didn't seem to be able to disappear from her face, the dimple in her cheeks coming out prominently just like Kurt remembered them. "How could you be real?" She pursed her lips then nodded lightly. Kurt followed her with wide eyes as she moved around on the couch only to come sit closer to him on her knees. Her hands were hovering over where his hands were twisted in his lap and if he only looked at it he could nearly feel her touch on his skin, the way he remembered it.

"It doesn't matter now if you believe that I am real or not, sweet pea. You are a smart boy and soon enough you will understand that our world is made of more than meets the eye. Nevertheless, I need you to listen. I came here to warn you."

"Warn me?" Kurt couldn't stifle the laugh. This dream, fantasy, hallucination was getting more and more ridiculous by the second. His mother gave him her _Kurt-I-told-you-to-do-something-and-I'm-not-going-to-repeat-myself_-face and immediately Kurt's laughter died in his throat.

"Yes, warn you. I am a ghost, Kurt. I died twenty years ago and now I have come back to warn you. This is not something the dead do lightly, so I expect you to take this as seriously as it is, young man." Kurt solemnly nodded, he was simply too enthralled by the face of this mother to dispute at this point.

"Kurt, my dear boy, my dear son. Since the day I went away I haven't let my gaze drift away from where you grew up to be the man you are today and Kurt, I worry about you! I worry about what you have become." Her hand lifted up and reached for him, as if she wanted to let her hands run through his hair. Kurt's heart beat fast in chest, as if it wanted to jump out. "There are points in everyone's life that change them and I am afraid of how these events have changed you. And you cannot even see that the path you are treading on, will not be the one you hope it to be."

"Wha-What do you mean?" Kurt's throat felt dry. His mother's eyes were piercing at him, deep and blue, looking right into his soul even from beyond the grave. The ghost only shook his head at the question.

"You will have to find out by yourself, honey. But listen: three other ghosts will visit you. The ghost of Christmas past, the ghost of Christmas present and the ghost of Christmas yet to come. They will show you things and I hope that in the end you will understand."

"Christmas ghosts? Can't this fucking holiday at least leave me alone in my hallucinations?" Kurt grumbled and tore himself away from his mother's gaze. Next to him he heard a light chuckle and then the ghost whispered, "I love you, Kurt. And I believe in you. There is still time and I know you have your heart in the right place." The words got quieter towards the end and when Kurt turned his head back to look at the figure of his mother, she was gone.

He was once again in the darkness of his living-room, the only faint light coming from his TV. Kurt groaned as he flopped back onto the cushions of his couch.

"No more wine for you, buddy," he mumbled to himself as he got up, turned of the TV and shuffled to bed.


End file.
